


Bereft

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Eliot is a mess, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, You aren't going to like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: When Reynard invades Fillory, the battle of The Beast is savagely interrupted in a way that changes Quentin and his friends forever but none so more than Eliot, who may never live to be High King unless his friends can lure Reynard into a trap and take back what the trickster stole from him. They race against time, Reynard’s twisted desires, and against Julia, who has her own plans for revenge against Reynard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rolling around in my head for weeks but I was hesitant to write it because of the violent content. Then I figured hell, the show has it in spades, so why not? Thanks to Cldfiredrgn for helping me hammer out a few of the details about Reynard’s invasion of Fillory. Please heed the warnings, kudos and comments are magic, and as always, I hope you enjoy what I have to offer. 
> 
> This is the first chapter of what may be a very long fic. I'll try to update soon!

Bereft   
By Lexalicious70 

Magicians made such easy prey. 

Whether they spent years at Brakebills, learning their wards and the application of practical magic or as hedges, scrabbling and scratching for spells at the fringes of acceptable magic, their desire to know greater and more powerful spells always brought Reynard to feed. Preying on Julia Wicker, that foolish hedge witch, had brought him great pleasure, but now he sensed that there was even juicier prey to be had in Fillory. Something delicious and magical and rare awaited his insatiable appetite there, something recently unveiled to his senses, and his predatory nature wouldn’t be eased until he claimed it. 

It had been simple to catch the attention of Quentin Coldwater. Reynard had simply disguised himself as Julia, and Quentin’s tender feelings toward her had given him passage to Fillory, easy as you please. Now he and the others were traveling there, courtesy of the button, to face The Beast. Reynard wasn’t particularly worried about the presence of this bothersome creature who, after all, had once been human. If the children didn’t dispatch him, Reynard would take care of him. 

It played out just as Reynard thought it would—the Beast grievously wounding Quentin, the powerful blonde girl going niffin and destroying the beast, then herself being killed by Quentin’s cacodemon. As the high king and queen tried to stop Quentin from crawling to the blonde’s body, (oh, how these humans hurt for each other,) Reynard stepped in front of them as he revealed himself, still housed in Richard’s body. 

“Good evening, your majesties!” He grinned, and as the high king stepped in front of the smaller, (yet no less belligerent) high queen, Reynard knew he’d discovered the source of the power he’d sensed ever since being summoned, and it was radiating from Eliot Waugh, the High King of Fillory. The boy possessed the kind of natural abilities that made Reynard salivate, and as he and Eliot locked eyes, the way the monarch’s amber eyes widened let Reynard know he understood the trickster’s intent. Reynard snarled laughter and seized Eliot’s wrist, and the magician gasped in agony as Reynard destroyed his wards with one touch. 

“Eliot!” Margo screamed, and Reynard swept a hand toward her. The High Queen screamed in fear and dismay as she was knocked off her feet and out of the clearing, where she met a tree trunk with a sickening thud. Reynard sensed that the blow didn’t kill her but no matter; he would take care of her after he took what he wanted from this delicious boy and after he tore Quentin Coldwater’s head from his shoulders while he lay on the ground, his dark eyes wide and wet. 

The ground beneath Quentin was firm but rich and he tried to dig his right foot into the soil to get his arms up under him, but his right shoulder was a raging nest of pain, somehow numb and disconnected yet screaming with negative sensation at the same time. His lips formed Eliot’s name, but silently, as Reynard twisted Eliot’s left arm behind his back and pushed it up toward his shoulder until there was a muted crunch. Eliot gave a high, gasping cry of pain and then Reynard kicked the magician’s feet out from under him and took him to the ground. Quentin tried to reach out with his other hand as he and Eliot locked eyes across the six or seven feet that separated them. Eliot’s long frame jerked as Reynard undid and yanked off his fine grey trousers, leaving him nude from the waist down. Eliot’s free hand flopped and twitched in the dirt like a wounded spider and Quentin’s pain-hazed mind made a cross-connection to the one he’d seen Mayakovsky smother and then bring back to life during a lesson at Brakebills South; it had retreated to a corner afterward, where it shuddered and jerked, just like Eliot’s hand was doing now. 

“Ah ah! I don’t want to see those fingers moving!” Reynard grinned as Eliot tried to cast a spell with his trapped left hand. He twisted Eliot’s wrist, snapping the bones, and then swung a leg over his thighs. Eliot stared at Quentin, his amber eyes wide, as he realized there was nothing Quentin could do to stop this. 

_“Huh—unngh!”_ Eliot gasped as Reynard entered him. While Quentin knew his friend wasn’t a virgin, the forcefulness with which Reynard drove himself into Eliot was obvious, and it made Quentin’s heart hurt more than his ruptured shoulder. Reynard rode Eliot eagerly, leaning over to whisper in his ear. 

“Are you ready, child of earth? Are you? Because I’m hungry, and I’m ready to feed!” He drove forward, and a high, pained sound escaped Eliot as the trickster spilled his seed into him. Quentin wanted to shut his eyes, to look away, but doing so would mean leaving Eliot alone. Reynard pulled away then, moving back and rolling Eliot onto his back before kicking Eliot’s long, twitching legs apart even wider. He knelt in the dirt and leaned over, and Eliot hitched out a helpless shout of agony as Reynard bit deep into his inner thigh. Eliot’s eyes rolled as he expected the demon to tear away a huge chunk of his flesh but instead his sharp teeth locked deep and began to suck instead. Instead of sucking blood, Reynard fed on Eliot’s magical and telekinetic abilities, draining them and adding them to his own power. Eliot stared up at the sky, his left arm cocked at a terrible angle, his right one spread out in the dirt. Penny winked into the clearing a moment later, and Eliot turned his head. Engaged in his feeding, Reynard didn’t look up. Penny stared, shocked, and Eliot sent him a weak, broken plea with his mind.

_Get—Quentin and Margo . . . out of here._

As Penny knelt by Quentin and the both of them vanished, Eliot closed his eyes. Reynard finally drew away, licking his lips, and then Eliot felt the trickster’s hot, dank breath in his ear again. 

“This isn’t the end, magician king. At least not yet. You’re going to die soon, and when you do, I’ll be there to finish feeding. You see, when you’re born, there’s great energy. But when you die, there’s an even greater surge, and I’ll take that, too.” His tongue snaked out and tasted Eliot’s ear. Eliot watched as the god’s feet, clad in Richard’s sensible shoes, passed just inches from his face as he rose. 

“Looks like Quentin managed to escape me while I was eating! It doesn’t matter . . . he’ll be here when I return, and I’ll tie up loose ends then.” There was a rush of air and then silence, except for some birdsong, and the harsh pull and push of Eliot’s breathing as he lay bleeding on the ground.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin, Margo, and Eliot face the aftermath of the Beast's attack: Quentin gets some unwanted information from the centaurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back to read more! I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to DreamWvr73 for the quick beta read!

Quentin awoke twenty-four hours later to find himself laying on a table under a white tent. The quality of the air and the slant of the sun let him know he was still in Fillory. But why was he alone? Where was—

Flashes of the recent past interrupted his thought process. Alice, the Beast, the pain as he’d released his cacodemon, Alice’s still, pale form, and Reynard—

“Eliot!” Quentin sat up, and a sympathetic-looking woman came up to steady him. 

“Easy now. That’s a long fall for human legs.” 

“Human . . . where am I?” Quentin asked, wincing as his shoulder reminded him of his own injuries, and the woman patted his other arm. 

“You’re with the centaurs. They’re working to heal you, your majesty.” 

“Where is everyone?” 

“The traveler and his female companion brought you here yesterday, along with the high king and queen. Fortunately, the high queen’s injuries were not serious, and she will be fine.” 

“Eliot.” Quentin said, the name pushing past the dry fear in his throat. “The High King? Do you know—” He watched as a shadow crossed the woman’s expression. “Please, you have to tell me!” 

“The centaurs are skilled with healing, Quentin Coldwater. The most skilled in all the land. But they fear there is little they can do for the High King. His wounds were caused by a god, one who stole that which makes him a magician.” 

“I want to see him. Please, I feel well enough to walk and I want to see him!” 

“As you wish.” The nurse helped him down off the table and they struck out across a field filled with tents like the one Quentin had been in. The nurse stopped toward the end of one row, and Quentin watched as the silhouette of one of the centaurs moved within. As they got closer, he could hear Margo’s strident voice. 

“I don’t care what kind of sense it does or doesn’t make! You’re the healer, so do your magic horsey healing and fix this!” 

“Your majesty, his wounds are unlike anything we’ve ever seen.” The centaur replied, and Quentin fumbled his way through the tent’s opening. 

“Margo?” 

“Quentin!” She turned, her dark eyes snapping open wide with surprise, but Quentin barely registered her expression when he saw Eliot laying on a padded table next to her. A crisp white sheet was drawn up to just above his nipples, his chest bare, and his left arm was encased in a willow bark cast from just below his elbow to the base of his long fingers. Quentin swallowed hard as he remembered the snapping sounds the bones had made under Reynard’s crushing grip. Eliot’s arm no longer jutted out at an odd angle so they must have relocated his shoulder, but as Quentin watched, tiny pinpoints of crimson began to grow on the sheet near Eliot’s left thigh. A solemn-looking sorrel centaur doctor named Winding Path turned to his nurse. 

“Bring some fresh gauze. All we can do is keep binding it.” 

Margo crossed her arms over her breasts, her expression shuttered, and Quentin went to her. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I have a concussion, but they say it could have been worse. Penny and Kady brought us back to Fillory after they were sure Reynard was gone.” 

“Penny knew what was happening? And he didn’t try to stop it?” 

“None of us could stop it, Quentin! You saw that! Penny told us it’s what Eliot wanted—he knew it was the only chance for you and me to get out of that clearing alive!” 

Quentin stepped closer to Eliot and touched one of his dark curls—something he’d always wanted to do but never quite dared when Eliot’s sardonic smile was on him, and Quentin realized he’d give anything to see it now. 

“Has he been conscious?” 

“A few times.” Margo paced the length of the bed, but her eyes never left Eliot’s face. “But whatever’s happening to him, he’s aware of it. He knows that Reynard stole his magic—his telekinesis.” 

“I didn’t know gods did that kind of thing.” Quentin said softly. Margo flipped her hair over one shoulder and cleared her throat. 

“Reynard is a trickster, Quentin. A glutton. He preys on magical people and Eliot was like a Goddamned buffet to him!” 

Winding Path’s nurse returned with fresh supplies and the centaur pulled back the sheet. Quentin stepped back but even from that vantage point, he could see the bloody bandage that covered the bite Reynard had given Eliot. Eliot twitched and moaned as Winding Path peeled the soiled gauze away, revealing a semi-circular bite that was mottled black and purple and yellow. Small drops of blood welled up from puncture wounds that looked puffy and infected. 

“Jesus.” Quentin murmured, and as the centaur and his nurse spread a herbal paste over the wound and applied fresh gauze, Eliot’s eyelids began to twitch. Quentin touched his good hand. 

“El?” 

The long, dark lashes fluttered and Quentin’s heart flooded with relief as Eliot’s eyes opened, the amber depths filled with muddled recognition and then relief. 

“Q.” He murmured, and the long fingers of Eliot’s right hand twitched and moved until Quentin slid his own into them and squeezed gently. 

“Hey. It’s really good to see you.” 

“You too.” Eliot’s gaze slipped away from his friend’s for a moment as he remembered the last time their eyes had met. “Seems like Julia and her hedge bitch friends released something that makes the Beast look like about as threatening as a Teletubby.”  


“I don’t think they meant to, El. Penny talked to Kady, who was there when they summoned him. She—she said that Reynard attacked Julia too. Did—did what he did to you. Right before he disguised himself as her and came to me. I didn’t know, I swear to God I didn’t—”

“Of course not.” Eliot closed his eyes, as if speaking was exhausting him. Quentin squeezed his hand again. 

“Just rest, El. We’ll figure this out and you’ll be fine.” 

“Except that I won’t be, Quentin.” Eliot’s eyes opened again, and the amber depths, usually bright and possessing their own kind of quiet power, were duller now. 

_Put out the light, then put out the light,_ Quentin thought randomly, but he tried to keep his expression steady until Eliot slipped back into unconsciousness. He brought his friend’s elegant hand to his lips and held it there until Winding Path shuffled him into a nearby chair, where he sat until well after nightfall.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The centaurs give Quentin and Margo an ultimatum, but Margo has a plan. Meanwhile, the Physical Kids learn that Julia has her own agenda concerning Reynard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this. I hope to update sooner than a week for this next chapter!

Quentin, Margo, and Eliot spent three more days with the centaurs. They repaired Quentin’s shoulder, replacing missing flesh with a dark, durable wood that they painted over with synthetic skin. Margo made weak jokes about Quentin being Fillory’s own answer to Luke Skywalker while her own injuries healed and her headaches faded. Kady and Penny came and went, searching for Julia or any sign of Reynard, but as the sun set on that third day, Winding Path came to see them all.

 

“Your time here with us is at an end, children of earth.” He said without preamble, and Quentin glanced over at Eliot, who was sipping chicken broth from a ceramic mug, with Margo’s help.

 

“But Eliot isn’t healed yet.”

 

“There is nothing more I can do for him, Quentin Coldwater. The wounds go much deeper than my healing can reach.”

 

“Wait—what? What are you saying? I thought you centaurs were the greatest healers in all of Fillory!” Quentin struggled to keep his voice down. “Look—Eliot may be the High King but I’m a king too, and—and I command you to heal him!”

 

Winding Path gave Quentin a long, impassive look, and it was Quentin that finally broke the silence.

 

“I’m just saying that there must be another way! Something you haven’t tried, a spell you haven’t thought of!”

 

“We have reached the limits of our healing. We will supply you with horses, food, and some fresh gauze. I suggest that you return to Whitespire and wait for an absolution there.”

 

“An abso—no!” Quentin shook his head so hard that the end of his hair struck his own cheeks. “You’re telling me to take Eliot back to Whitespire to die?”

 

Winding Path stomped a foreleg. “I only tell you what I know, Quentin Coldwater, and that is nothing more can be done for the High King of Fillory here. You must move on.”

 

“Can you at least let us wait for our friends? We’ll have to make a plan.”

 

“Very well.” Winding Path turned and trotted off with his human nurse running alongside to keep up. Quentin pushed his hair back with both hands.

 

“Margo.” He called, and Margo walked over to him briskly.

 

“So what did Dr. Flicka say? Because Eliot can barely keep anything down and his fever keeps spiking.”

 

“It’s Winding Path.” Quentin said out of grudging respect for the centaur. “He did heal us, Margo.”

 

“Fine, whatever, so what did he _say_?”

 

“He says that we have to go to Whitespire. That there’s nothing more they can do for Eliot here.”

 

Thunderclouds brewed in Margo’s dark eyes.

 

“That is some bullshit!” She snapped.

 

“I understand how you feel but they wouldn’t have any reason to lie to us! They said they’d give us horses, food—”

 

“And how is Eliot supposed to ride a fucking horse when he can barely sit up without bleeding?” She spat the words at Quentin, who glanced around like he was looking for something to shield himself with.

 

“I don’t know, I . . . I was thinking maybe we could hire a carriage or something.”

 

“God, this is asinine!” Margo snapped. “They rebuilt your shoulder and healed my fractured skull but they can’t help Eliot?”

 

“The centaurs will let us stay until Penny and Kady come back, but then we’ll have to leave.”

 

Margo began to reply when Eliot made a low, helpless noise and threw up the bit of broth he’d taken. A nurse went to his side to wipe his mouth and Margo looked up at him.

 

“What happened to him, Quentin?” She asked. “He won’t tell me and the last thing I remember is Reynard grabbing his wrist.”

 

Quentin looked away as flashes of the attack came back to him in details he’d been trying to forget—the crunch as Reynard had dislocated Eliot’s shoulder, the thud of their bodies hitting the ground together, Eliot’s gaze, wide and disbelieving, as the trickster took him without hesitation or mercy. Margo’s small hand cupped his chin then, and he was forced to look back at her.

 

“Quentin.”

 

Quentin took a shuddering breath, pierced by her gaze.

 

“I saw it all, okay? I was right there, laying on the ground when Reynard attacked but I don’t know how to tell you, Margo, I—” He paused and pushed a lock of hair behind his left ear. “Because now it’s like I can’t unsee it and I can’t put it in your head too because you’ll see it every time you look at him, like I am now!” The last word cracked and Margo tightened her hold on his chin.

 

“You need to tell me right now. Do you understand? It’s the only way I can try to help him!”

 

Quentin tried to swallow the bitter ball of emotion that had collected in his throat.

 

“Reynard, he . . . he didn’t just take Eliot’s abilities. He—he attacked Eliot first.” Quentin gestured, unable to get out a word that seemed appropriate. Assaulted him.” Quentin said at last.

 

Margo’s dark eyes searched Quentin’s face for a moment, puzzled, as if she was trying to decipher a particularly difficult spell, and then understanding broke over her expression. Her mouth worked and Quentin nodded.

 

“I wanted to stop it, Margo. I swear on my life if I could have, you have to know . . . but I was bleeding and I couldn’t get to him or cast any spells. To tell you the truth if Penny hadn’t come back I don’t think any of us would be alive right now, I mean, I don’t even know why Reynard left Eliot alive, it doesn’t really make a lot of—”

 

Margo’s open palm connected sharply with Quentin’s cheek and he started, more surprised than hurt.

 

“What the hell, Margo!”

 

“You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be some kind of genius, you’re a fucking idiot sometimes.” She turned on her heel and stormed back over to where Eliot was being tended to. Quentin found his way to a nearby bench and sat down, his cheek still flushed. Penny and Kady appeared in front of him a moment later and he flinched back at the sudden movement. Penny frowned at him—or maybe that was his resting scowl, it was hard to know sometimes—and folded his arms across his chest.

 

“So what the fuck happened to you?” He asked, and Quentin shook his head.

 

“It’s not important. Did you find Julia?”

 

Kady paled and groped for Penny’s hand, and he took it.

 

“Yeah man. We found her. And it turns out Reynard didn’t come here right away when Julia and her friends freed him. He wreaked some pretty serious fucking havoc before then too.”

 

“We didn’t know.” Kady said quietly. “We thought we’d found a goddess. But then he came. He—he killed everyone. He took over Richard’s body, killed the Free Traders . . . and then he went after Julia. Because she was trying to protect me. He attacked her. Raped her.” The last two words were almost a whisper, and Penny nodded.

 

“He’s a fucked-up predator-god, Quentin, and we have to put as much space between him and us as possible!”

 

“Julia’s gone off to hunt him down.” Kady says, and Margo joined them in time again to glare at her.

 

“Then we have to find her, and stop her.”

 

“Why should we stop her?” Penny asked. “Let her end him and good riddance! I would have thought you’d be all for that, considering what he did to Eliot!”

 

“None of you understand how this kind of magic works, do you?” Tears glittered in Margo’s eyes but she looked furious at the same time. “If Julia kills Reynard, then Eliot’s magic and natural abilities die too! They’ll die before we can find a spell to trap that fucking fox and get back what he stole!” She glanced over at Penny. And if you think Reynard’s done with Fillory or with Eliot? Guess again because when Eliot’s weak enough, he’s going to come back and finish the job!”

 

“And feed from the energy created by his death.” Quentin murmured, and Margo gave him a look that suggested she was vastly relieved that he’d finally caught up.

 

“So what the fuck do we do now?” Penny asks, and Margo’s furious eyes swept what remained of their Brakebills group.

 

“We capture a psychotic, predatory fox-God, for starters. Then we figure out a way to undo what he did before El gets too weak and Reynard comes back for seconds.”

 

“It sounds impossible.” Quentin murmured, and Margo turned to look at him.

 

“Quentin, if being a magician isn’t to try and make the impossible possible, then why fucking be a magician at all?” She turned smartly, her raspberry coat flaring out behind her. “Come on. We’ll start back at Brakebills.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Physical Kids seek help from Dean Fogg, but they may have to formulate their own plan before time runs out for Eliot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. More to come, of course!

“No. Absolutely not. There’s simply nothing I can do.”

 

Quentin stared at his one-time dean as Henry Fogg sat barricaded behind his massive desk, his expression oddly neutral despite the sharp edge to his words. Penny and Kady stood on either side of Quentin, looking as frustrated as he felt.

 

“What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do? For Christ’s sake, you’re the dean here, you run this place, you always said it’s your job to make us the best magicians possible!” Quentin said.

 

“Yes, if you finish the recommended program.” Fogg nodded and took a sip of something milky and steaming from a nearby cup. “And if I recall correctly, the three of you, along with Margo and Eliot, dropped out of Brakebills to pursue interests in other worlds.”

 

“So, what . . . that makes it not your problem?” Penny snapped. “Pretty sure this psycho god will come after this place when he realizes how much magic he can take from it, the students, the professors! The fuck, if you don’t care about us, it’s at least your job to protect them!”

 

“And it’s not your place to tell me my job!” Fogg slammed a fist against his desk, making the teacup rattle against its saucer. “Also, may I remind you that if Quentin had told me that his friend had not been properly mind wiped right away, perhaps she wouldn’t have sought out alternative means of learning magic—”

 

“Yo!” Penny interrupted. “Don’t put that on Quentin! He didn’t help her learn any of that hedge bullshit!”

 

Quentin blinked at Penny.

 

“Thanks!”

 

“Shut up.” Penny said with a roll of his eyes before scowling at Dean Fogg. “Julia and her hedges summoned Reynard. We’re gonna clean up her fucking mess but we need a spell to trap him. Are you seriously saying you won’t help with that?”

 

“I’m afraid so. However, I will suggest that you consult the less-visited sections of our library. I’ll allow you access, even though you’re technically not alums.”

 

“Fuck this noise, and don’t do us any favors.” Penny said, giving Fogg a disgusted look. “We’ll trap Reynard without your help.” He turned and walked out with Kady following. Fogg came out from behind his desk as Quentin went to follow them.

 

“One last word of advice, Quentin.” He said, and Quentin’s sense of deference to his former dean made him pause. “Don’t try to be the hero here. You’ve already died thirty-nine times and now the Beast is finally defeated. You’re free. Let your hedge friend deal with Reynard. You’ve done enough, given enough.”

 

“And Eliot?”

 

“Eliot always seemed to enjoy riding the fine line between adventure and disaster, Quentin, and other worlds are full of both.” A smile played around Fogg’s lips and Quentin wanted to slap those dark glasses off his face, shake him, scream at him. He clenched his fists instead, turning away from Fogg to catch up with Penny and Kady.

 

**_Fillory, three hours later_ **

Awareness that announced itself in the form of pain stole over Eliot’s consciousness. He forced his eyes open, his preternatural senses gone, and rolled his head from side to side. He was laying on something plush that smelled musty—like the material of a couch that had seen way too many asses and not enough fabric refresher—and a glassless window above him and to his left was covered with a thick section of dark velvet material, creating an artificial darkness. He tried to sit up but his entire left side was a slab of pain, from his collarbone to down his long left arm, where it eased at his ribcage but then flared to life in his lower groin, his left thigh, and deep inside him, where Reynard’s attack had torn and bruised unprotected flesh. A hand fell on his good arm and Eliot looked up to see Quentin sitting beside him.

 

“Eliot, hey . . . it’s okay. We’re headed back to Whitespire. You’re in the royal carriage. We thought it’d be easier on you than a horse.”

 

Eliot glanced down at himself. He was clothed in an eggshell-white caftan that fell to just above his knees and covered with a linen blanket that was more suitable for a dining room table than it was a bedroom. He recognized it as something the centaurs had probably loaned to Quentin. Underneath, his left inner thigh felt wet and clammy, like the flesh there wasn’t quite knitted together as it had once been.

 

“Probably a wise choice.” He said, his voice rough with three days of intermittent vomiting. He closed his eyes a moment, hearing the carriage squeak and groan as it hurried along. “Margo?”

 

“She’s riding alongside the carriage with Penny and Kady, keeping a lookout. But Margo didn’t want you to be alone and I think I’m shit at horseback riding anyway.”

 

“You are shit at horseback riding.” Eliot nodded. “Even your horse says so.”

 

“I don’t mind riding with you, El.” Quentin reached out and adjusted the blanket.

 

“So we’re headed back to Whitespire.” Eliot kept his gaze on the swaying piece of velvet cloth. “What did the centaurs say?”

 

“They—well—they weren’t really sure how to treat you. What happened. That’s why we left.”

 

“Quentin.”

 

Quentin glanced up.

 

“What did they say?”

 

“El, I think you try and get some rest until we get back to Whitespire. You’ve been through a lot and—”

 

“Goddamn it Q, just say it!” Eliot snapped, and Quentin rubbed a hand over his mouth.

 

“They sent us away. They said—uhm—that there was nothing they could do. The bite Reynard gave you . . . it’s not something they can cure.”

 

Eliot nodded, wincing as the carriage hit a bump and sent a flare of pain down from his thigh all the way to his ankle.

 

“So. They’re sending me back to Whitespire to die. To live out the rest of my very short rule there.” He paused. “Do you think you’ll become High King after I die, or will they choose someone else to help you and Margo rule?”

 

“You aren’t going to die. Penny thinks there might be an answer in the books at the Neitherland library. I hate to agree with him—on anything, really—but Dean Fogg was no help and the library there is supposed to be the greatest collection of magical knowledge anywhere.”

 

“Except I got us banished from there forever the last time we were in the Neitherlands.”

 

Quentin blinked.

 

“Oh. Oh shit.”

 

“Right.” Eliot closed his eyes and tried not to grit his teeth as the wound on his thigh throbbed and bled fresh. Quentin watched small dots of blood seep through the white linen.

 

“El . . .”

 

“Don’t.” Eliot held up a hand. He’d survived Reynard’s brutal attack, the loss of his magic and telekinesis, and several broken bones, but he knew if he had to discuss any of this with Quentin and see pity in his friend’s dark eyes, he’d break down sobbing and never stop. “Don’t, Q. I know that you saw it all and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to discuss the play by play.”

 

“You’re _sorry_? Jesus, Eliot! You were—he—there’s no way you can actually think you need to apologize to me!”

 

Eliot adjusted the silk pillow under his head. God knows where Quentin had gotten it from; it was much too grand for the simplistic and efficient centaurs, who treated thrift like a religion. Quentin reached for his hand but Eliot pulled it out of reach.

 

“Don’t give Margo any details either. That bastard Reynard almost killed her to get to me. She’s been through enough. So have you.”

 

“We have. Right.” Quentin murmured and leaned his head against the padded bench. Eliot turned his face away and tried to raise wards that were no longer there as the carriage rattled on toward Castle Whitespire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo and Quentin arrive at Whitespire with Eliot but are at odds about how to care for him, and Penny arrives with some urgent news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please let me know if you do!

“Damn it Quentin, leave me alone! Quit fussing, I can walk on my own!”

 

Quentin took a step back from the carriage door. Behind them, Whitespire loomed with dozens of servants waiting to answer any request the crowned Children of Earth might make. As Eliot struggled down the carriage steps, refusing Quentin’s offered hand, Quentin knew that the High King of Fillory wasn’t going to make caring for him easy.

 

“Eliot come on, you’re going to fall!”

 

“I said I can walk!” Eliot snapped. He put his weight on his good leg as he stepped down but the space between the step and the ground was wide and he stumbled, gritting his teeth against the flare of pain it caused. Quentin hovered next to him, trying to anticipate his next move and to catch him if his leg gave out. Eliot glared at him, the linen blanket wrapped around him in a makeshift cloak.

 

“Oh for Christ’s Sake!” Margo marched over to them and unwrapped some of the blanket’s folds to take hold of Eliot’s right arm. “I don’t want to be out here all day!” She snapped her fingers and six servants arrived with a gilded sedan chair. “They’ll carry you in,” she said to Eliot. “You can still look regal instead of trying to gimp your way up the stairs. Or do you want the whole kingdom to know you can barely walk?”

 

A servant bowed before Eliot and offered his arm. After a moment relented, bracing himself on it and climbing slowly into the chair. Margo nodded.

 

“Well thank fuck. Let’s go.” She led the procession up the steps and into the castle. Eliot glanced around at the grand surroundings, knowing that he owned it all but probably wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy any of it. The servants carried him inside and Margo jerked her chin at a nearby hallway.

 

“Take the High King to his bedchamber.” She commanded, and Eliot raised a set of mental eyebrows. Apparently the crown suited Margo and she wasn’t afraid to give orders. Then again, she’d never been a shrinking violet. Eliot looked at his throne with longing as they passed it. Quentin walked on the other side of the chair, trotting to keep up.

 

“Do you want anything, El? Maybe a bath or something? Or I can ask the kitchen staff to make you something to eat?”

 

“I think the castle doctor should look him over.” Margo said, striding along on the other side of the chair.

 

“What for? The centaurs couldn’t help him, what’s a regular Fillorian doctor going to do?” Quentin argued.

 

“Someone has to change that dressing and put something on whatever that wound is!”

 

“It’s a bite!”

 

“Quentin—” Eliot began, but Margo spoke right over him.

 

“Well it’s not healing!”

 

“Marg—”

 

“I know it’s not!”

 

“So we can’t have just any doctor—”

 

Eliot’s hands clenched around the chair’s arms.

“Stop! Halt! Put me down!” He commanded, and the servants obeyed instantly. Quentin nearly collided with the closest one. Eliot heaved himself out of the chair, stumbled to his good knee, and then slowly got to his feet to hobble down the hall.

 

“Shit!” Eliot, what are you doing?” Quentin squirmed past the bulky chair and ran after him.

 

“What’s it look like? Getting the hell away from Queen Heckle and King Jeckle!”

 

“Eliot—”

 

Eliot turned on him, swaying unsteadily as his bad leg refused to support his weight entirely.

 

“I’m dying. I don’t know how much time I have, but I’m not going to spend it listening to you two arguing about the best way to see me out!”

 

Quentin looked up at him.

 

“We’ll find a way to heal you. I told you before, you’re not going to die. I’m not going to let you.” Quentin said, and there was such conviction in his voice that Eliot wanted to smile. Margo caught up with them, her dark eyes glinting.

 

“What the hell is your problem?” She asked Eliot. “Get your ass back in that chair!”

 

“No! I refuse to listen to the two of you arguing about me!”

 

Margo pursed her lips and looked over at Quentin.

 

“All right. I can see where that might piss me off too. But you can’t hobble around like this.” Her features softened. “Eliot . . . please? Get back in the chair before you start bleeding again.”

 

The servants brought the chair up to him in an efficient pattering of feet, and Eliot glanced at them both.

 

“No more discussing my very short future while I’m within earshot?”

 

“El—”

 

“Yes or no?” Eliot asked, ignoring the slow trickle of fresh blood down his thigh.

 

“Yes, fine, all right! Jesus!” Quentin relented, and Margo nodded. Only then did Eliot accept Quentin’s help into the chair. As he sat down, Quentin glanced down at Eliot’s leg, which was streaked with thin lines of blood. Eliot drew the linen blanket over it and focused his gaze down the hall as the servants picked up the chair and carried it down to the royal bedchambers. 

Per Quentin’s wishes, a Fillorian doctor came to examine Eliot once he was settled into the massive feather bed that dominated the grand room. They propped him up with ornate pillows and packed the area under his thigh with an absorbent material while Eliot stared at a spot on the wall across the room and refused to answer any questions from Tick Pickwick, his royal advisor. The doctor, a stout little man shaped like a beer barrel, his graying hair tied back in a cockernonnie, looked over Eliot’s wound and then nodded.

 

“Hmm, hmmm!” He said at last before looking up at Eliot. “It would appear the centaurs are right, your majesty. This is a grievous wound, full of powerful magic.”

 

“There’s nothing you can do?” Quentin asked, and the doctor frowned in a way that people in his position did when they had nothing but bad news to offer.

 

“Sadly, your highness, I cannot. I can maintain some level of comfort, but beyond that, I—”

 

“Thank you, that will do.” Eliot interrupted. “You’re dismissed. Tick, you too. Quit hovering and help the High Queen with whatever she requires.”

 

“Come on.” Margo said to the advisor. “We have some work to do. And don’t repeat a word you’ve heard here, got it?”

 

“Yes, your highness.” Tick nodded, but he was sweating visibly as he followed Margo and the doctor out. Eliot closed his eyes but the darkness only offered him mental flashes of his encounter with Reynard, so he opened them again. Quentin hauled a chair over to Eliot’s bedside and sat down.

 

“Don’t you have a kingdom to run?” Eliot asked. “And if not now, shortly, and so therefore you should be grooming yourself for the monarchy?”

 

“I’m a king whether I’m in the throne room or not.” Quentin pointed out. “And I don’t think you should be alone.”

 

“I’m not going to hurry the process along, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Although it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Penny and Kady are in the Neitherlands right now, trying to reason with the librarian. I sent a message along with them, asking her to let them in as a favor to King Quentin.”

 

“Do you think being king is going to make a difference to her?” Eliot asked, and Quentin smoothed the hem of the blanket.

“I don’t know, El. All we can do is try.”

 

Eliot watched Quentin’s hand work along the sheet.

 

“I’m sorry about Alice. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before.” He said, and Quentin’s expression twisted briefly before he cleared his throat.

 

“She . . . it was a choice she made.”

 

“You released your cacodemon to protect Margo and me.”

 

“I didn’t know it would kill her. I just thought it would distract her long enough for you and Margo to get away. I didn’t think—” The corners of Quentin’s mouth tightened and Eliot nodded.

 

“I know. You had no way of knowing. But thank you for doing that for us.”

 

“Turns out I didn’t save anyone though, did I.”

 

“You didn’t summon Reynard. Julia and her hippie hedges did.”

 

Quentin began to reply when Penny appeared in the room. He looked more irritated than usual.

 

“Penny!” Quentin got to his feet. “Did you give the librarian my message?”

 

Penny glanced at Eliot.

 

“It’s a dead end.”

 

“Did you at least _try_?”

 

“Where the fuck you think I been all this time?” Penny snapped. “Why don’t you go and talk to her, O great king? Maybe she wants you to grovel to her face to face!” Penny yanked on the lapels of his open shirt. “But that’s not our only problem, man.”

 

“What else?” Eliot asked, and Penny shook his head.

 

“Julia is forming a new group of hedges—the most powerful she can find. During the next phase of the moon change she plans to trap Reynard.” Penny glanced away. Trap him and kill him.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin formulates a plan to find the spell they need, but he'll need Penny's help; Eliot receives an unwanted visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please let me know your thoughts! Thanks to DreamWvr73 for the beta.

“Can you say that again, man? Because I don’t think I heard you right!”

Quentin glanced at Penny as he paced the throne room. He glanced at Eliot’s chair as he passed by, his stomach clenching at the thought of Eliot never getting to sit there again.

 

“You heard me. I want you to take me to the Neitherlands so I can break into the library and find the spell we need to trap Reynard!”

 

Penny scowled and folded his arms over his chest.

 

“You do realize how crazy you sound right now, right? How out of touch? You don’t ‘break in’ to the Neitherlands library!” Penny made finger quotes, which rankled Quentin for reasons he couldn’t place. “Or have you forgotten how that member of the order exiled us with a flick of her fucking hand? You don’t go up against power like that!”

 

“I don’t have any other options! If I don’t, Eliot’s going to die!”

 

“Man . . .” Penny took a step forward. “You might not be able to prevent that anyway.”

 

“Right.” The word wavered and Quentin’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly. “Because when Mike stabbed you with the Virgo Blade and everyone said you were going to die, we just gave up trying to find a cure and that’s why you’re standing there right now.”

 

“That—”

 

“Don’t you dare say that was different!” Quentin shouted. “Because it’s not, Penny, it’s exactly the same thing!”

 

“But with the Virgo Blade, you at least had some idea where to start! Reynard isn’t a part of your Fillory books, Quentin, and you have no idea where to begin, even if you get into the library!”

 

“Eliot saved me. When you winked in, he used the last of his abilities to tell you to get me and Margo away from Reynard! You told us that! Penny . . . don’t you understand how incredibly brave that was of Eliot? Don’t you get what Reynard was doing to him?”

 

“Yeah man I get it!” Penny said abruptly, and Quentin saw the left side of his mouth twitch. “I was there, like you said.”

 

Quentin stalked over to the taller man. Penny watched him approach, mildly surprised but refusing to give any ground.

 

“Then either take me to the Neitherlands or give me the button. Either way? I’m fucking going!”

 

Penny rolled his eyes so hard the whites nearly showed, and then he sighed.

“Fine. I’ll take you. But if you get me killed or some dumb shit like that, I will haunt your ass for the next seven millennia! Got it?”

 

“Yes, fine, got it.” Quentin murmured, and Penny paused.

 

“You’re right though. It was brave. Didn’t think he had it in him—thinking about other people.”

 

“He’s going to be a good king. And. And he’s my friend and—I care. A lot.” Quentin said almost too quietly for Penny to hear. Penny nodded.

 

“Fine. So let’s go.” He grabbed Quentin’s wrist and both of them vanished from the throne room with a whoosh of air.

 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 “Eliot! Ohhhhh,  _Eliot_!”

 

Eliot opened his eyes, the strange sing-song voice cutting through the haze of pain he’d been floating in. A dank, hot rush of breath filled his right ear and he flinched in surprise as he turned his head. Reynard’s grin and flaring, reptilian yellow eyes were less than an inch from his own and he jerked back.

 

“Uh!” He gasped, and Reynard’s grin widened.

 

“Don’t bother screaming for your high queen or King Quentin.” He grinned, and Eliot struggled to sit up.

 

“Why? What did you do to them? You fucking bastard—” Eliot gasped as Reynard shot out a hand and strong fingers clamped around his neck, threatening to dig in, to pierce the tender flesh there and rip it out.

 

“Do? Why, nothing! But if you continue to insult me, High King, I will end this here and now and they’ll find nothing left of you but a pool of congealing blood and what’s left of your intestines after I’ve eaten my fill!” He removed his hand, letting Eliot gasp in a few lungfuls of air.

 

“Where are my friends?” Eliot asked when he could speak again, and Reynard leaned his elbows on the bed.

 

“Out in the throne room, planning your very royal funeral, I imagine. But it doesn’t matter. They can’t come in here anyway . . . we’re suspended in time.”

 

“What do you want?” Eliot asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice, and Reynard cocked his head.

“Why, I came to check on you!” He rose all at once and yanked back the duvet that covered Eliot’s legs. Eliot reached out to tug them back up, but Reynard pointed a finger at him and he fell back, pinned against the pillows, unable to move.

 

“You’re so determined to go on playing the High King and the mighty magician, aren’t you? Even though I’ve made you powerless as any everyday human?” He shoved Eliot’s legs apart, ripped off the bandage, and buried his face in the bite he’d made. Nausea swept through Eliot as felt the god’s lips on his skin, and then his tongue.

 

“Please.” He whispered, and Reynard gave the area another long, thick lick before pulling back.

 

“Oh yes. You’ll be ready soon.” Reynard leaned forward until his lips were nearly touching Eliot’s. “You’re going to be so delicious, and when I’m done feeding on you, I’m going to kill the others and make Fillory mine. My own personal abattoir!”

 

“Fillory doesn’t belong to you!” Eliot said, and Reynard grinned again.

 

“Not yet it doesn’t. But it will—and so will you.” Reynard’s lips took Eliot’s in an aggressive kiss, his hands coming up to tangle in and pull at Eliot’s dark curls. Eliot squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stay silent, and then he was alone in the room again, the spell broken. He exhaled hard and wiped a hand firmly across his mouth. Margo stepped into the room a moment later, her stride all business.

 

“Quentin and Penny are off on an errand and Q wanted me to tell you he’ll be back—” She cocked her head and frowned. “El? What is it?”

 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Eliot wiped his mouth again and Margo’s gaze traveled to the uncovered wound. Eliot covered it with one hand. “I’m sorry. I must have torn it off in my sleep or something. Maybe Tick or that doctor could fix it.”

 

Margo put her hands on her hips for a moment and glanced away, as if in thought, and then she went to the large armoire where they were storing the medical supplies Winding Path had given them. She brought over the gauze and the tape and the fresh bowl of water Tick always kept on Eliot’s dressing table, along with a soft square of woven cloth. Eliot watched her.

 

“Margo . . .?”

 

“Well. How many times did you hold back my hair when I worshipped the porcelain god at the cottage our first year? I owe you a few.” She soaked the cloth and dabbed at the wound while Eliot set his mouth in a grim line and tried not to flinch away.

 “You were right. It’s not healing.” He said at last, and Margo soaked up dots of fresh pus and blood before using another square of cloth to apply the herbal salve the doctor gave them.

“No. But we can maybe keep it from spreading until Quentin and Penny get back. Q is determined to find a spell that can trap Reynard and fix all this.”

 

 “And if he can’t?”

 

 Margo applied a fresh bandage and changed the padding under his thigh.

 

“I’m not ready to accept that scenario any more than Quentin is. So let’s take things one step at a time, all right? I’m going to bring you some soup from the kitchen. It’s not the scrippelle ’mbusse from that place in Manhattan that you love, but I’ll make sure it’s edible.” She stood, tossing the soiled bandages into the receptacle nearby. Eliot snagged her hand and she glanced down at him.

 

“Thank you, Bambi.”

 

Margo’s dark eyes softened and she squeezed Eliot’s hand.

 

“The Fillorian doctor’s practices are as arcane as his stupid hairdo. It’s not a problem.” She pulled the covers up over Eliot’s lap and lowered the room’s lights with magic, leaving Eliot to lay wakeful, searching the shadow-filled corners for a pair of flaring yellow eyes.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny and Quentin find an unlikely ally in their search for a solution to Reynard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since my last update. Life! I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

“Penny, we don’t have time for this!”

 

“You’re just going to have to trust me, Quentin. We won’t be able to get into the library alone and he trained me—taught me how to travel! If anyone can help, it’d be him!”

 

“But what reason would he have? He’s not exactly a people person.”

 

“We have a connection! Just come on!” Penny grabbed Quentin’s wrist and a moment later they found themselves as Brakebills South, in the common room.

 

“Professor?” Penny called out. “Professor Mayakovsky!”

 

The taciturn magician stomped into the alcove a moment later, his face set into the severe, dour glare Quentin remembered so well. Then he turned it on Penny.

 

“I did not teach you to travel to come and go as you please!” His glare shifted to Quentin. “Or to bring sub-average students back for walk down memory lane!”

 

“Sub—hey, I’m a king now!” Quentin protested. Mayakovsky gave him a long-suffering stare.

 

“The average king of the land of _blah_!” He declared, and Penny held up a hand.

 

“We’re not here for a visit! We’re in trouble and no one at Brakebills will help us!”

 

“This too is Brakebills. What makes you think you can find help here?” Mayakovsky asked, and Quentin scowled.

 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Penny. Greatest living magician my ass.” Quentin moved toward the door, but the older man blocked his way.

 

“All these months and still you have not learned patience! Answer my question, and then perhaps decide about leaving.”

 

“Why should I? It’s obvious you aren’t willing to help!”

 

“Quentin . . .” Penny closed his eyes as if Quentin was the stupidest person he’d ever encountered, but then Mayakovsky stepped into Quentin’s personal space.

 

“Answer the fucking question!” He shouted, and Quentin’s fists clenched.

 

“Because this fucking school taught us everything, expect how to work magic when it really counts! How to find the powerful spells we need to help people who risked everything for the people they care about!”

 

The two men glared at each other and then Mayakovsky scoffed before turning and beckoning the two men into his office. He pulled out a bottle of vodka, poured three shots, and gestured for Penny and Quentin to drink.

 

“Your answer was pathetic, Coldwater. Nevertheless, I am bored and you peak my curiosity. So. Tell story.”

 

Quentin downed his shot and began with the battle of the Beast, Alice’s death, the arrival of Reynard, and then his attack on Eliot. Mayakovsky poured two more shots during the tale and then gave Quentin a grim look as he finished speaking.

 

“The world in which we live is one of many. Each presents different dangers. Even storybook worlds like the one you discover.”

 

“Dean Fogg already told us that! No offense here but it really doesn’t help us! I need a spell or a way to find a spell before it’s too late. Look . . . no matter what you think of me or my abilities as a magician, Eliot doesn’t deserve to die because of it!”

 

“Can you help us into the library?” Penny asked, pushing ahead, and Mayakovsky poured another shot.

 

“I cannot. The order’s powers are too great for even a magician like me to overcome.” He gave Quentin a long look. “Alice is dead. But I think you found another reason to feed fox. No? Or maybe that hunger was there along and you try to deny it like good little magical sheep. Only now, when you might lose what you desire, do you realize your error.”

 

“Desire, what—” Penny glanced at Quentin, who scowled and tightened his wards. Mayakovsky gave a flat chuckle.

 

“Come. Maybe I do have something.” The older magician led them down a hall and tugged aside a large decorative rug to reveal a trapdoor. He yanked it open and a narrow ladder unfolded from underneath it to touch the floor, and Mayakovsky shimmied down. Penny and Quentin followed. The floor was polished concrete and so bitterly cold that Quentin could feel it seeping through the thin soles of his Fillorian boots. The walls of the room were lined with books, the shelves stretching high over Quentin’s head. A rolling ladder sat in one corner, and Mayakovsky pushed it over to one section.

 

“I don’t remember being down here last year.” Quentin said, and the professor scoffed as he climbed the ladder.

 

“This room is not for student eyes, Coldwater! This is personal library.” He plucked a book from one of the higher shelves and climbed down the ladder.

 

“Jesus. All of these books are yours?”

 

“What else do you think there is to do for magician exiled to the end of the earth?”

 

“Drink, obviously.” Quentin muttered, and Mayakovsky shoved him into a chair at a scarred wooden table nearby.

 

“There are few ways to trap gods bent on the destruction of humanity.” He opened the book. “But even old gods, like this Reynard, are bound by the laws of magic the use, as we are. This is a god that manipulates time, and time can be used to trap him as well, I think.” He turned a page and tapped a sepia drawing of an intricate pocket watch. There were similar drawings on the opposite page, but they were all shaped differently.

 

“I don’t understand. What do pocket watches have to do with Reynard?” Quentin asked.

 

“Not pocket watches plural! One watch!” Mayakovsky shoved the book closer. “It is Aipo’s Timepiece! The embodiment and wellspring of time itself!”

 

“Wait—Aipo’s Timepiece is real? I thought it was just a story.” Quentin said.

“As you thought Fillory was. Many stories have roots in fact, in history.” The professor gestured to the page. Penny looked at the drawings more closely.

 

“Aipo. He was a minor god who supposedly set time as we know it—he created the watch to remind mortals that their time is limited, to give them drive and ambition. The watch changes shape all the time—it’s supposed to be as fluid as what it represents.”

 

“Gold star for Penny!” Mayakovsky drawled, and Penny rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s a great legend, but I don’t see how it helps us.” Quentin said, and Mayakovsky turned the page.

 

“When it was time for old gods to vanish, Aipo hid the watch from humanity. Other gods had available hiding places in other worlds, but . . .” He tapped the page. “Read.”

 

Quentin pulled the book closer. It was written in Russian and he struggled to recall the alphabet.

 

“The power of Aipo’s Timepiece was too great for mortals to wield, and the old gods feared it would corrupt them. Wow, just like the One Ring—” Quentin flinched  as Penny gave him a withering look. “—So, uhm . . . he hid the watch on a new world, one created by Aipo’s cousins . . . twin ram gods.” Quentin looked up and Mayakovsky, his dark eyes wide. “Holy shit! Twin ram gods? It’s Fillory! They have to be talking about Fillory!”

 

“So, this watch is hidden somewhere in Fillory.” Penny sighed. “And how do we find it, exactly?”

 

“There is no map. Only one clue.” Mayakovsky pointed and Quentin looked back down at the page, translating slowly.

 

“The timepiece slumbers where time grows long.”

 

“Yeah, cos that’s not fucking vague.” Penny scowled.

 

Mayakovsky got to his feet.

 

“That is all I can offer. Now take it and go!” He flicked a hand and the three of them were suddenly standing in front of a portal back to the Neitherlands and the Fillory fountain. Penny went through and Mayakovsky grabbed Quentin’s arm. His eyes seemed to burn.

 

“You rule a world created by sheep, Coldwater, but that does not mean you have to be one. To catch a fox, you must feed your own. Remember what it is you desire. Claim it!” He then shoved Quentin through the portal and it slammed shut, leaving Quentin with no choice but to follow Penny as he dove into the fountain.

 


End file.
